From Russia with Love
by lexie2
Summary: Lucas arrives home from Russia intent on getting his life back, including the love of a woman whose memory's kept him alive. Lucas/Vyeta AU fic set in Series 7.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: **From Russia with Love

**SUMMARY:** _Lucas arrives home from Russia intent on getting his life back, including the love of a woman whose memory's kept him alive._

**AUTHOR**: Lexie aka lillianschild

**RATING: **PG-13/Mild R (probably in later chapters)

**FANDOM:** Spooks

**PAIRING:** Lucas/Vyeta

**GENRE: **Drama/romance

**Disclaimer**: All recognisable characters belong to the BBC & Kudos Productions; I'm just playing with them for a little while without making a profit. No infringement's intended.

**A/N: **I'm going to use some events from the beginning of Series 7 and put my own spin on them to suit my needs. In other words, the plot's going to be largely AU after Lucas' introduction.

I can't stand Sarah Caulfield, and Maya's a reminder of the way TPTB destroyed Lucas' journey and Richard's painstaking work building the character, so neither of them was an option as a romantic couple for this fic.

I could have come up with an OC, I suppose. However, I loved most of the scenes Lucas was in with Vyeta and all the potential of their storyline, which was thrown down the drain pretty fast. I'm sorry, but never in a million years would they convince me Maya was the love of his life and the woman he'd never been able to forget after watching the way he was around his ex-wife in Series 7.

In short, I'm going to explore what could have been if the writers had done their work properly.

**A/N 2: **Visit my profile to find a link to one of my Lucas/Vyeta all-time favourite videos made by the wonderful Spikesbint. Not only does it share the same title, it goes perfectly with the plot of this tale.

**Enjoy!**

**PRO****LOGUE **

_Monday November 3__rd__, 2008_

He's been on English soil for a week. He's supposed to be finally back home after his hellish eight-year imprisonment in Lubyanka and yet, that sense of belonging that is expected from a member of Her Majesty's Service returned to his homeland isn't there. How could it be when Harry- his mentor and the man he cares for like a second father- has revoked his temporary clearance at work, the one place where he'd always known who he was before his forced exile? How could he feel back home when everyone but Malcolm is a stranger to him on The Grid and when he is still a dead man to the one person who's filled his thoughts for eight years? Elizaveta Starkova. Vyeta. His wife; the one he'd lost even before boarding the plane to Moscow on that ill-fated mission a lifetime ago.

He remembers what he had and what he lost, and dreams of getting it back.

_She's well and happy._ He hasn't been able to think of anything else since Harry's cryptic reply in the bathroom at Thames House; a pregnant silence that has done nothing but robbed him of sleep- the one he's supposed to be catching up on during his leave of absence while the MI5 psychiatrist, his superiors and his physical prove he's fit for active service again.

He's spent most of the day cleaning the flat MI5 got him in the south-west of the capital and unpacking what little he has in this world, mostly novels and poetry books Malcolm kept for him in his attic. Lucas has developed an obsession with order and cleanliness, an unconscious and irrepressible urge to remove all physical trace and memory of the acrid and fetid odours which assailed his nostrils for eight years; an anal compulsion that provides him with a false sense of control over his own life.

The floors are gleaming and all surfaces are spotless clean, and the up-to-this-morning nude white walls now house a framed reproduction of Blake's Ancient of Days; his belief in God has never deserted him... well... almost never. He wonders what his father, the Methodist minister, would have thought of him if he'd been told Lucas tried to hang himself in Lubyanka and that he'd have succeeded if his torturer hadn't found him in time.

He sets his empty cup down on the saucer and finishes off the last macaroon the officious landlady gave him as a housewarming gift. It's the only food he's had today. Even though he's aware his malnourished body needs more than doughnuts and Danish pastries to fill up and regain its healthy status, his dietary habits have taken a second place amongst his priorities since the minute he was declared officially on leave.

There's only one thought occupying his mind- seeing Vyeta again and facing whatever Harry's left unsaid.

* * *

_ST JOHN'S GARDENS- LONDON- 4 p.m._

The beginning of winter is less than a month away, but it's making its presence known as he inconspicuously shadows Elizaveta at a quiet pace; the late autumn wind cold against his angular features. Although he knows the greyish blue dress shirt he's wearing under the open long overcoat Adam got him isn't warm enough, he needs to feel the cold breeze on his skin to remember he's alive... and free... or as free as he can be considering the circumstances.

He stops at a safe distance and observes her as she pauses to check the time on her wrist watch before she looks to her right, her body posture revealing she's here to meet somebody. He wonders who that someone is and if he should be jealous, if his rival's hands have felt the silk of her black hair, now tied in a ponytail, slip through his fingers, if he's seen her brown eyes turn to melting chocolate the way they used to when they made love before Russia. Eight years ago. A lifetime ago.

She takes a few steps forward and her face breaks into a loving smile as a pair of young legs rush to meet her halfway and both people hug each other tight.

Lucas can feel the blood pounding fast in his ears and his eyes starting to burn with unshed tears while he struggles to swallow the big lump in his throat on witnessing the scene.

He wonders if Harry knew. Of course, he did. He had to; it would be unlike him to be in the dark when it comes to the private lives of his people and those close to them. And even though Lucas subconsciously begrudges him for not having secured his release sooner, he knows his mentor well enough to interpret his silence as a thoughtful attempt to spare his protegé the pain- if only for a short while- of knowing Vyeta has moved on completely.

The thought of his boss seems to have conjured him up after forty-eight hours of silence. Lucas takes his ringing mobile out of his pocket and, taking a deep breath to school his troubled emotions, answers the call keeping his eyes fixed on the receding backs of his wife and her companion.

"Harry?"

"How are things doing, Lucas?"

"Adjusting."

"Give it time. Things will eventually fall into place."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"… Have you talked to her yet?"

"No. I wanted to, but it wasn't the right time or place."

"I know you're officially on leave, but would you mind coming on to The Grid, Lucas? I need you to brief us about Kachimov."

"I'll be there in two minutes," he replies after a brief pause, disconnecting the call and slowly turning back the way he came.

Maybe he's clutching at straws. but a new thought is taking shape in his mind. Maybe things aren't as lost as he's deemed them to be after all.

_Dum Spiro Spero. While I breathe I hope._

**CHAPTER 1**

_Tuesday November 4__ th__, 2008_

Elizaveta is sitting on the narrow bed, raking its occupant's hair with loving fingers as he lies peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil Vyeta's mind has been in since Arkady Kachimov surprised her outside the art gallery where she works.

The moment she saw the FSB head of operations in London turn up at the gallery she knew either something momentous had happened or was about to. Her heart galloped and her hands started sweating; she wondered how Lucas had been able to live and breathe in a world full of secrets, lies and betrayal, a world inhabited by cold, heartless and unscrupulous men such as Kachimov and sadistic, manipulative monsters such as his tormentors at Lubyanka.

She leans forward and presses a soft kiss on the boy's brow, tears gleaming in her eyes as she stands up and walks to the bedroom door where Anatoly's standing.

"It was time to let him go. I know it was a hard decision to make, Vyeta, but Nick is a good man. You did the right thing."

Yes, Nick is a good man. He loves her. He's safe, caring, has a nine-to-five job in a law firm and is a good provider. He's the kind of husband any parent would wish for their daughter, but she doesn't love him, at least, not the way she's supposed to love a husband, not the way she loves..._loved_... Lucas.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, Vyeta and Anatoly walk down the corridor to the living-room, where a cosy fire's burning to mitigate the cold of the late autumn evening.

A log crackles in the fireplace as her father takes a seat in his favourite armchair and Elizaveta shifts her gaze from the bluish flame to her left hand. The perfect one-carat diamond set in an eighteen-carat platinum band sparkles and the memory of the plain gold wedding ring Lucas slid on her finger reminds her of all the love, hope and dreams he offered her when he chose her above all others.

Love, however, hadn't been enough to forgive the lies and, what still hurts her the most, his lack of trust in her. Love has brought her nothing but unbearable pain and, for that reason, it wasn't a factor in her decision to accept Nick's marriage proposal after almost eight years of hoping Lucas was still alive somewhere.

Only her father's gentle but inflexible prodding convinced her it was time to move on and have her family lawyer begin her divorce proceedings, a decision that would come to haunt her a few months later when a sealed anonymous envelope turned up at her doorstep and the agony increased twofold on viewing its contents.

An ever-present sense of guilt robs her of sleep. Guilt for letting others convince her to do what in her heart she felt wasn't right. Guilt for becoming the very thing she accused Lucas of being- a liar, a keeper of secrets. She's been keeping the truth from two of the most important people in her life on the same grounds her husband used to hide his real identity from her, to protect a loved one.

"When are you going to set a date?" asks Anatoly, observing his daughter's pale visage.

Just like Nick, her father has been putting pressure on her to tie the knot- after all, a little over a year has gone by since she was declared officially free. She's young still. It is high time she started to live again!

Vyeta sighs. How can she tell her father that Lucas is indeed alive and that she's been praying for his release for a year? How can she confess the truth- that she judged him wrong, that yes, he lied to her but not in the way she'd assumed? How she wishes she could find forgiveness in her heart for the way they parted knowing now the truth and what came after their goodbye!

She shivers at the thought of all the indignities she knows he must have suffered at Lubyanka and feels her gut clench for she's aware she's privy only to the tip of the iceberg.

How to set a date after what she learnt this morning? Lucas has known too many betrayals in the last eight years to add one more. He deserves better, and she wouldn't be able to face either him or their son if she were to take this step without sorting things out between them first.

"_Papa_, it's too early to make plans. A wedding's not something that one can rush into, especially when there's a child to think about."

"Nick loves Ioann as if he were his own son."

"But he is not."

"Vyeta, _doch'ka_," he remonstrates,"don't hide behind Ioann (John=God is gracious). We both know what all this is about. In spite of all the years that have gone by, you haven't been able to forget Lucas. And those damn anonymous phone calls have done nothing but make matters worse. I hate to see what this false hope is doing to you. If only there had been a farewell…"

Oh, but there was one, Papa- one I wish I could erase!

She can still recall every moment of that morning as if it were only yesterday; every wretched minute and the painful look in the unforgettable blue-grey eyes of her husband are etched on her memory. She can't remember how many times she's replayed the scene in her mind, his words and the hurt in his voice ring in her ears even now.

"_There's no need for you to see me off at the gate," he told her, closing the passenger door and throwing the garment bag over his shoulder._

_They were in the airport's car park surrounded by people rushing to and fro, escaping from the freezing cold. The first snowflakes of the year started to fall as she stood next to the driver's door, looking at her husband over the roof of her car and struggling to keep the tears at bay. She adjusted her overcoat and pulled up the collar of her red jumper both to seek some warmth and to prevent herself from doing what her heart was urging her to do- to get lost in her husband's arms and beg him not to leave._

_Lucas' eyes reflected his worry as he observed her fidgeting, incapable of meeting his searching glance. After months of awkward silences and half-truths he knew something wasn't right. Understanding seemed to have dawned on him, maybe too late._

"_Golubushka, you know I have to go on this trip. It's important for my career. I'm the only one at the office who's proficient in Russian and if I manage to solve this mess, there's a fair chance I'll get a big promotion," he explained. "We'll talk when I come back," he promised, tilting up her chin with his right hand to be able to look into her chocolate eyes._

"_It's too late, Lucas. It's been too late for a while now. There are things that I just can't become reconciled to," she told him tightly, seeing him flinch as if she'd slashed him with a knife._

"_It didn't seem that way last night," he croaked, stroking her cheek._

_Last night, when they'd made love._

_Although they might not be able to communicate with words, they never had trouble in the confines of their bedroom. Lucas was both a passionate and tender lover, and she'd never yearned for another man's caresses and kisses the way she longed for her husband's. _

Lucas was her first and only lover and even now that she's promised in marriage to Nick, she can't imagine her fiancé will ever make her feel the way Lucas did with just a look, a brush of his fingers or a morning kiss.

_There in the car park, standing close to each other, feeling the magnetic pull of his eyes and the warmth of his beautiful hands through her woollen overcoat, Vyeta uttered the words she'd never thought she'd say to him._

"_Lucas…" she began to say, trying to muster the courage to look him in the face."I want… I want a divorce."_

"_What?" he choked, visibly swallowing the lump in his throat after a few moments of frozen silence._

"_I'm sorry," she murmured, lowering her eyes to focus them on something less distracting than his Adam's apple. _

"_Vyeta, look at me," he urged her with a hint of desperation in his voice. "You don't mean that," he added shakily._

"_This isn't a decision I`ve made overnight or one I've taken lightly, Lucas. I've only asked you to be honest with me… "_

"_I just need time, Vyeta," he replied, trying to take her hand in his before she snatched it away and crossed her arms protectively in front of her. _

"_I can't do this anymore," she shook her head. _

"_I have to be on that plane in five minutes. I should be back in a couple of weeks. Please, sladkij," he urged her._

"_I've given you too many chances to open up to me. Trust is the basis of a marriage and it's clear we've both lost it along the way. You don't trust me enough to tell me the truth and I can no longer live with someone who lies to me on a daily basis."_

"_I've never lied to you about what matters. I love you, Vyeta."_

"_Sometimes love is not enough," she whispered, looking into his pain-stricken blue-grey eyes for the last time before stepping back to unlock her car and sitting behind its wheel like an automaton. She wasn't aware of fastening her seatbelt or firing the engine, but she did see Lucas in the rear-view mirror, the winter wind dishevelling his dark hair and the cold giving his usually pale complexion a red tinge._

_Haunted by the look of misty sadness in his eyes as she left him behind, Vyeta parked her car in front of their block of flats, unaware of the constant flow of tears rolling down her cheeks._

She blinks several times to chase away the memory and looks out of the bay window of her father's house seized by a sudden wish to cry once again.

She misses what she used to have with Lucas- passion, hope, dreams of raising a happy family… the illusion of growing old together.

"Nick won't wait for you eternally," says the man who tried to drive her away from Lucas, the son-in-law he's never considered good enough for his daughter.

"I know," she states quietly, straightening a picture frame of Ioann on the mantelpiece.

"Excuse me, sir," Anatoly's maid butts in, entering the living room after announcing her presence with a discreet knock.

"Yes, Stella?" asks Vyeta's father, noticing the middle-aged woman's unusual discomfiture.

"Sir, there's… there's a gentleman in the hall… he says he wishes to speak to Ms. Elizaveta."

"Now?" groans Anatoly, checking the time. " It's already past nine."

Through the door Stella's left ajar, Elizaveta spies a profile reflected in the corridor's mirror, and her heart starts pounding in her chest.

"It's all right," replies Vyeta. " Show the gentleman to the study, Stella. Tell him I'll be with him in a couple of minutes."

"Who did he say he was?" frowns Vyeta's father, looking at his maid.

"He…"

"He's a colleague from the gallery," interrupts Vyeta. "I forgot I'd told him to come over to discuss a few last-minute details for next week's exhibition. It might take us some time, _Papa_, so don't wait me up."

"You shouldn't bring work home," he remonstrates.

"The pot calling the kettle black," she replies with a shaky smile.

* * *

Once she makes sure her father's out of the way, Vyeta approaches the oak door behind which her visitor's waiting for her, checks her appearance in the looking glass hanging to the right and, taking a deep breath, turns the doorknob.

He's standing in front of the well-stocked bookcase, leafing through a leather-bound volume of eighteenth century English poetry, when she steps quietly into the study. He seems not to have noticed her but appearances are many a time deceptive as she's learnt only too well; Lucas can't have survived this long as a spy if anyone can sneak up on him this easily.

Vyeta takes advantage of his facing the other way to observe him at leisure.

He's a lot thinner and clearly in need of a few hearty meals to fill up the long blue overcoat he's wearing despite the crackling fire blazing in the room. His black hair's crying for a haircut; the old Lucas would have never let it brush the starched collar of his dress shirt and yet, she's never felt a stronger urge to rake her fingers through those tresses than she does now.

It's a strange feeling but, for once, she feels like the protector rather than like the one in need of sheltering. Maybe the fact she's given birth to a baby since she saw him last is the reason behind this sudden urge to mother him even when being in the same room still makes her all shivery and his musky vanilla scent brings back memories that tinge her cheeks a delightful red.

Soon the need to touch him, to make sure he's alive and breathing after this eight-year nightmare, overpowers the insecurity and nervousness which seized her the minute she realized who it was that had turned up at her father's doorstep unannounced.

"Lucas," she whispers haltingly.

After everything he's been through and survived, it's funny a wisp of a woman can make him feel so insecure. He'd never felt more of a coward than the moment she stepped into the room and he stood rooted to the spot, gripping the book in his hands as if it were an anchor, looking at the printed page in front of him with feigned concentration.

He wonders if she can hear the wild beating of his heart across the room, if she knows how much he's dreamt of this moment or how hard it's been to keep his distance since his return when the thought of seeing her face again was the one thing that helped him put up with the hell that was Lubyanka.

He closes his eyes and savours the way his name sounds coming from her mouth, waits a moment longer until she calls him again and an almost imperceptible disturbance in the air around tells him she's but a couple of steps away, close enough for her soft perfume of lilacs to reach his nose and transport him to a cosy bed & breakfast in the Lake District where he made a woman of her on their wedding night.

Through the veil of unshed tears, he stares at his wife until she takes a hesitant step forward and grabs his hands. He lowers his eyes to contemplate their intertwined fingers and feels his hands shake.

"Vyeta..."

She raises her head on hearing his voice for the first time and looks up into his glassy blue grey orbs as the tears she's been withholding since she crossed the threshold finally roll down her cheeks.

Lucas envelops her in his arms and hugs her to him with all his being. She's warm, soft and no longer a vision conjured by his mind. After so long she's back where she belongs and smells like the young girl he fell in love with fifteen years ago and has yearned to hold again since boarding that wretched flight to Russia.

She stands on tiptoe and he dips his nose in her glossy black hair, which she's wearing down, and whispers her name repeatedly. Vyeta feels his long-fingered hands stroke her back with tender urgency as if he needed to ascertain she is flesh and blood.

Lucas, the man she fell madly in love with and married despite her father's opposition is back home and Vyeta's bursting with joy... until her eyes fall on her engagement ring and she remembers Lucas is also the man she intended to divorce eight years ago... the husband she's had declared officially dead.

Feeling the strong beat of his heart against her breast, she wonders if he can feel her heart start to break.


	2. Chapter 2

**TITLE: **From Russia with Love

**SUMMARY:** _Lucas arrives home from Russia intent on getting his life back, including the love of a woman whose memory's kept him alive._

**AUTHOR**: Lexie aka lillianschild

**RATING: **PG-13/Mild R (probably in later chapters)

**FANDOM:** Spooks

**PAIRING:** Lucas/Vyeta

**GENRE: **Drama/romance

**Disclaimer**: All recognisable characters belong to the BBC & Kudos Productions; I'm just playing with them for a little while without making a profit. No infringement's intended.

**A/N: **I'm going to use some events from the beginning of Series 7 and put my own spin on them to suit my needs. In other words, the plot's going to be largely AU after Lucas' introduction.

I can't stand Sarah Caulfield, and Maya's a reminder of the way TPTB destroyed Lucas' journey and Richard's painstaking work building the character, so neither of them was an option as a romantic couple for this fic.

I could have come up with an OC, I suppose. However, I loved most of the scenes Lucas was in with Vyeta and all the potential of their storyline, which was thrown down the drain pretty fast. I'm sorry, but never in a million years would they convince me Maya was the love of his life and the woman he'd never been able to forget after watching the way he was around his ex-wife in Series 7.

In short, I'm going to explore what could have been if the writers had done their work properly.

**A/N 2: **Visit my profile to find a link to one of my Lucas/Vyeta all-time favourite videos made by the wonderful Spikesbint. Not only does it share the same title, it goes perfectly with the plot of this tale.

**CHAPTER 2**

_Tuesday November 4__th__, 2008_

Lucas buries his nose in his wife's soft, perfumed hair and revels in the feel of her petite frame pressed close to him.

He reads hope, denial, love and guilt when she lets herself be wrapped in his arms. It's too soon to start analysis and dissecting all the emotions which are transpiring between them; he wants to savour this reunion after being denied for so long.

"I know you must be asking yourself lots of questions," he says quietly, swallowing the big lump in his throat before tucking a wisp of her hair behind her ear and wiping two tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. "My visit to Russia turned out to be a lot longer than I'd expected," he smiles wryly, gripping her hand more tightly as if he were afraid she'd fly away.

"I never gave up hoping even when everybody said..."

"It was time to move on," he completes her thought, looking at the engagement ring he'd seen sparkle in the park, before releasing her hand and stretching out an arm to grab one of the gilded frames lying on the baby piano. "May I?" he asks, seeing the fleeting look of angst in her eyes.

"Of course," she murmurs shakily after a brief pause.

"People say having a child changes one's outlook on life," he says softly, tracing the infant's features with loving fingers.

"It does..." she replies emotionally. "Lucas..."

"I saw you yesterday... in the park. He's a beautiful child..." he interrupts her, setting the frame down to pick up the photo of the boy as a toddler.

"He's my world. I don't know what I would have done without him..."

"What's his name?"

"Ioann."

_John. God is gracious._

"He has your dimples when he smiles."

"That's what _papa_ says."

"How's Anatoly these days?"

"He's been good to us..."

"You're his daughter and Ioann's a Starkov. I wouldn't have expected any different."

"Lucas... there's something I have to tell you."

"I've missed and lost many things since I boarded that plane bound for Russia, but my powers of observation aren't amongst them, Vyeta."

"_Papa_ wanted him to be baptised as a Starkov alone... but it wouldn't have been right."

"I've heard Tom's his godfather."

Lucas had introduced her to Tom Quinn early in their marriage, and the former spy was the first person she went to when Arkady Kachimov turned up at her doorstep with news of her husband. She'd always trusted Lucas' old friend, and he ended up being instrumental in her learning about Lucas' real identity and job. To this day, she thanks God for putting both Tom and his American wife, former CIA agent Christine Dale, in her way. They were the only two people in the world who could understand what she was going through; the only ones she could talk to without having to resort to lies or subterfuge.

"He's been a fabulous friend. "

"Has he?" he cocks a questioning eyebrow.

"He and _his wife,_ Christine," she adds quickly. "You'll like her. They make a great couple."

Tom Quinn. His best friend since university. The man who pushed him to apply for a job with MI5. The agent who got the promotion Lucas had been first in line for, the coveted promotion which undermined Lucas' life with Vyeta and almost cost him his life.

Lucas feels a sudden envy towards Tom, wishes he'd had the courage to do what his friend did before losing it all. Harry still appears to begrudge his former Section chief and yet Lucas can't help but admire the integrity shown by his son's godfather.

The fact that Vyeta's cultivated Tom's friendship makes Lucas wonder how much of the truth she's aware of and if his best friend felt the need to come clean with her. In any case, Lucas isn't naïve enough to believe Kachimov's approached her out of interest in Art. It also makes him wonder if Harry's suspicions are right.

She must already know the real reason behind her husband's late nights at the office, the unexplained cuts and bruises in his body and an absence of eight years that can't be explained as a business trip gone wrong.

"Vyeta..." he begins as she busies herself with the picture frames on top of the piano.

"Would you like to see him?" she cuts him off, unwilling to start dragging up the past the first night. "He's gone to bed earlier than usual today. This afternoon's football game wore him out," she adds quietly.

"I'd love to," he replies a few heartbeats later, struggling to ignore the sparkling diamond that adorns her ring finger.

Nothing, neither Anatoly Starkov nor a divorce or a man named Nicholas Sark is going to stop him from fighting to keep his family together now that he's back home at last.

* * *

_Friday November 7__ th__, 2008_

Three days later Lucas turns up at his father-in-law's home in Belgravia; this time announced.

Although Vyeta has already talked with Anatoly to prepare the ground for their meeting, Lucas knows it won't be an easy reunion, especially when the older man's got his hopes pinned on her marriage to an affluent lawyer. Unlike Lucas, who's the son of a simple Methodist minister with no connections, Nicholas has the right background to be considered worthy of Anatoly's only daughter.

Stella opens the door to him with a warm smile and a "Good evening, Mr North. It's good to have you back home." before showing him to the drawing room.

On hearing the front door bell ring, Vyeta rushes through her grooming and curses her superior at the gallery for having detained her on her way out. She should have been ready for her outing sooner to cushion Lucas from her father's predictable animosity. Even though Anatoly grudgingly promised to her, after a full-blown argument, that he's going to be civil to his son-in-law for his grandson's sake and hers, she knows the longer both men are left alone in a room the more risks there are of an explosion of tempers. Lucas used to be the one who lasted longer in control of himself, but that was before; this man who's gone to hell and back she's yet to get reacquainted with.

"I've been back home several times in these past years. I still have good friends there. They offered my family help to track you down. You were nowhere to be found. It was clear to me then you were either dead or didn't want to be located. Seeing you standing here has finally provided me with the answer I've been looking for," she hears her father say coldly as she approaches the drawing room.

"This might be hard to believe or understand, Anatoly, but if I'd been able to call or contact Vyeta, I would have done it. However, it was physically impossible."

"Physically impossible? "

Vyeta comes to a stop a few steps away from the door standing ajar, curious to find out what argument Lucas is going to use to justify his absence to her father.

She hasn't given Anatoly any explanations, despite his insistent prodding, because she knows what it's like to feel one's no longer in control of one's life. Her husband's owed this moment; he should have the choice of deciding the way he wants to come back after having been stripped off the power to chart his own life for eight long years.

"Soon after my arrival in Moscow I was assaulted as I was leaving a business meeting. They beat me up, stole everything I had on me and left me for dead on the side of a deserted road. A couple of farmers found me in a ditch and took me in."

"That was seven and a half years ago, Lucas. What kept you from coming back when you'd pulled through?" asks the older man with barely disguise ire in his voice. "Do you have any idea what hell you put my daughter through? Not only did she have to handle your abandonment she had to deal with a difficult pregnancy on her own. If I hadn't decided it was time to leave France and had the foresight of taking that taxi to your flat after hearing Vyeta's voice on the phone, you would have had neither a wife nor a son to come back to."

"_Papa_, that's enough," snaps Vyeta tensely, barging into the room and looking at her father with clear censure in her eyes.

Lucas can sense Anatoly's simmering rage crackling in the air and an equally powerful feeling of impotence and self-loath bubbling within himself for having put his career and his duty to his country first when his wife and his marriage needed him the most. Not for the first time he wishes he'd known Vyeta was with child, perhaps he'd have acted differently, perhaps he'd have told her the truth then... and perhaps he'd have ended up losing both of them for good.

It's no use pondering on what ifs. He needs to focus on the here and now if he's ever to get the chance of knowing and hugging the son whose journey into this world he missed, if he's ever to shed the ghosts he's brought with him from Russia and dispel the doubts Harry's chat has planted in his mind.

"It's all right, Vyeta. I too would begrudge my son-in-law if I were in your father's shoes," he says in a calm voice. "You see, Anatoly, I was held back against my will... "

"What? You were kidnapped? Imprisoned?" frowns his father-in-law.

"I've been imprisoned in my mind for a very long time... Amnesia," replies Lucas, looking at Vyeta out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction.

"Amnesia?" echoes Anatoly, studying Lucas with a speculative eye. "Did you know this, _doch'ka_?"

Vyeta looks down at her feet before raising her eyes to meet Lucas' and nods slowly.

"Why did you keep it from me? Why did you let me...?" starts her father.

"Would it have made any difference? " she cuts him off. "I've let you take the reins of my life for far too long. I thank you for being there when I needed you, _Papa_, but it's time Ioann and I moved out."

"Vyeta, _doch'ka..."_

"Stella's already helping us pack. I'm sorry, _Papa_. I won't change my mind."

"You turn up after eight years, having miraculously regained your memories and in less than three days you've got her wrapped round your little finger once again. What have you told her this time to have her turn her back on her family?" he glares at the younger man.

"Please, Lucas, don't," she stays her ex-husband, placing a hand on the sleeve of his jacket. "I don't want to fight with you over this, _Papa_. When are you going to understand it's never been a competition to see which of you would get me? I'll always be your daughter, but you have no right to ask me to choose between you or to dictate what I should do with my life."

"Are you moving in... with _him_?" asks Anatoly gruffly, ignoring his son-in-law's grim expression.

"With all due respect, sir. I don't think your daughter has made up her mind about anything yet. And, in any case, it's a question that concerns only she and I. Now, if you'll excuse us, we've got a dinner reservation," replies Lucas in a no-nonsense tone which puts an end to the unsavoury confrontation.

"I´m sorry about that," says Vyeta quietly when Lucas puts the key in the ignition of his car. "I should have known better. I could have taken a taxi to the restaurant or agree to meet elsewhere."

"Our paths had to cross sooner or later. And this was bound to happen no matter how much you might have wished to put it off. Your father's never made a secret of his dislike for me, and I don't see how that would have changed after my eight-year-long inexplicable absence. I expected this, Vyeta, and to a great extent I deserved it."

"That's not true... You had no say in the decision to stay away for so long. You said so yourself. "

"I volunteered for the job; it was my choice, my responsibility. If I'd known that you were pregnant... At the airport... did you know? When you told me you wanted a divorce... were you already aware you were with child?"

"No," she replies quietly.

"You _know_ I had no amnesia, don't you, Vyeta?"

A sudden silence descends over them, one pregnant with questions he doesn't dare to ask and whose answers she wishes she could put off for as long as she can.

"Vyeta?" he prods gently.

"I just... just wish to pretend for one night that..." she swallows, making a desperate effort to keep the tears at bay. "Could we... please, Lucas?"

He wishes he had the strength left in him to say no, to demand an answer from her and put an end to this agonising wait but one look at her convinces him they both need this respite, a refuge from the wounds and the cruel hand of fate.

All of a sudden he feels the need to go back to innocent times when he still felt having a normal life separate from work- a loving wife and a family to come to at the end of the day- was possible; his little cocoon of safety and quietude amidst the chaos and craziness of the real world.

"I don't feel like dining in a stuffy French restaurant after all. Do you? How about some fish and chips?" he suggests, seeing her smile and start to relax.

"I'd like that a lot," she replies, fastening her seat belt.

* * *

_Monday November 10__ th__, 2008_

It's three o'clock in the morning and the moon bathes the king-sized bed where only one body lies asleep.

A slight sheen of perspiration gleams on her brow and neck as the fingers of her right hand grip the headboard and a soft moan escapes through her lips. She's dreaming about a pair of blue-grey eyes charged with passion and tenderness and broad shoulders that block the moonshine when he covers her with his lean and shapely body.

"Lucas..." she moans, yearning for the moment their bodies become one and she can feel whole again. But that moment doesn't arrive, and the mouth that has been hovering over her lips taunting her with a kiss she's been denied for eight long years makes a detour and whispers a word in her ear which feels like a dagger in her heart- "Traitor."

Her own uncontrollably loud sobs wake her up all of a sudden, and she sits up in bed, breathless and disoriented. Through the veil of tears she looks around the bedroom and realises she's no longer in the room that has been hers since she was born but in the bed she's occupied since she got married; only this time she's woken up alone and there's not even a head dent or a trace of vanilla on the pillow next to hers.

A dream. It was only a dream.

She wraps he arms around her bended knees, rocking to and fro, trying to get her breath back.

Lucas isn't a dream any more. He's alive and she saw him, talked to him and touched him two nights ago. And alone in the bed where he gave her their child she yearns for the caresses of his hands and the feel of his lips on her mouth and her skin.

She misses him more now than ever before and can barely control the urge to pick up the phone and call him, to give in to what she's read in his eyes. She knows that he's probably lying awake haunted my memories of his imprisonment and that a simple call would have him ringing at her door in fifteen minutes; that's how long it'd take him to drive to their home. But it'd be a mistake.

Fresh tears well up in her eyes, tears of relief because he's alive and back home. And she can't remember ever feeling this happy, not since their son's birth when she believed Ioann was the only piece of her husband she'd ever be allowed to have and hold in the years to come.

And yet, the experience is bittersweet. She remembers what it felt like to be held in Lucas' arms once more, to look into the blue-grey eyes she'd missed so much and knows she loves him still. And that realisation fills her with unbearable anguish because she knows what this means. Lucas might want to pick things up where they left them before he took that fateful flight; however, Vyeta doubts she'll ever have the strength necessary to survive loving him the way he needs to be loved, especially now after the hell he's gone through.


End file.
